


erejearmin fic collection

by searwrites (sears)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fic Collection, M/M, Polyamory, each chapter is its own fic, see each chapter summary for fic warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted to tumblr</p><p>----------</p><p>these were all originally prompts from my askbox on the old tumblr. each chapter is its own respective fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tattooed armin

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt: armin goes with jean (or armin and jean go with eren) to get a tattoo or piercing and they end up getting a cheesy matching tattoo/piercing or something, possible frick fracking? :D 
> 
> warnings for sexual content and swearing -- i should say please follow proper tattoo aftercare instructions and dont follow anything in this fic

eren clocks it right as armin falls backwards onto the bed, right as he wedges himself between them, sticks his hips up in the air to situate himself. and jean’s mind immediately torpedoes into damage control mode, because this shit could potentially get ugly.

“what in the _fuck_ is that?”

he’s pointing to the one scribbly looking work he can see in black ink on armin’s hipbone. the thing is, there’s actually two of them. jean knows, he saw them yesterday when armin had them done, when he still had cling film wrapped around his hips.

“what?” armin mutters, and then eren decides to fuck up all that re-situating by pulling hard on armin’s belt loop, causing jean to curse rather colorfully as armin’s elbow flails right into his gut.

they really need to invest in a bigger fucking bed. three people are not meant to share a queen.

“ _that_ ” eren practically yells, and then eren’s yanking armin’s pants off entirely, ignoring his pillow-muffled shrieking, and jean decides to sigh it off and sit up again. so much for the half-planned marathon of trailer park boys and slow-fucking on top of the covers.

“jesus christ, armin, is this my name? shit you have _two_ ” eren grumbles, eyes intent on the still inflamed black marking on armin’s skin.

eren’s face is close enough to armin’s barely covered cock to get jean’s blood pumping, but his frantic fear of armin marring his precious skin is making his voice almost impossible to listen to. armin is their baby, in a weird sort of way. jean’s got two entire sleeves, and eren’s face is full of holes - but god forbid armin do anything to alter his cherubic form. hell, eren pitched a fit when armin shaved the underside of his hair around this time last year. maybe it’s some sort of curse.

“it’s both of your names,” armin mutters, quiet but indignant, and eren’s eyes are practically burning holes right into armin’s face.

“why would you- armin, it looks like a fucking sixth grader drew these,” eren yells, and _shit_ … here we go.

“ _i_ drew them,” armin says quietly, pouting.

“alright, enough,” jean intervenes, shoving eren’s face away from armin’s crotch, contrary to pushing it closer, as he is usually inclined to do. “he got them done yesterday, yelling at him isn’t gonna take it back, dude.”

“you fucking _knew_ about this?”

armin surges forward, presses his hands to eren’s chest and buries his face into eren’s neck. it makes jean’s heart hurt a little, how quickly armin jumps to protect either of them, even if it’s from themselves.

“he didn’t know, he saw me cleaning them,” armin says, voice muffled by eren’s skin.

jean’s dick decides to take control of his limbs, because he’s been waiting for this all week - friday nights are their only real nights unbidden and together, the only night where all their schedules align and nobody has to get up early for work in the morning. they are supposed to veg out, eat shitty food, and fuck - and this is _not_ going to ruin that.

so, functioning on what he presumes is some kind of subconscious retention of ‘eren’s favorite things’, jean pulls armin until he’s almost laying down, pillows armin’s head in his lap.

“take his boxers off,” jean says, and eren scowls, but does it anyway.

jean slides a hand down armin’s side, traces the upside down letters of his own name, all thick with ragged edges, like a bad font decision on an old blackmetal album. eren watches him, his hand moving up the front of armin’s thigh towards his own name without really realizing it, and then sighs as he watches armin start to get hard from the attention.

“i think it’s nice,” jean says, letting his hand trail further inward, dragging his fingers through the startlingly soft hairs at the base of the boy’s dick. “no one sees them but us. only us.”

eren sighs again, his face pained like he’s caught between rage and confused arousal, but he delicately outlines the letters with his fingers anyway.

“they’re _never_ coming off - he will be stuck with our names on him forever, jean.”

“i’m right here,” armin snaps, though it’s too breathy to have any real heat to it.

jean starts stroking armin’s dick with his open palm, grins like an idiot when eren dips down and kisses the soft skin just below his name. armin moans quietly, wriggles and arches his back, and jean gives himself a mental hi-five for this one. when armin goes back to work tomorrow night he’ll get a fucking earful from eren, but he can deal with that then.

“this you tryin to say something? you want to keep us forever or some shit?” eren asks, his mouth puffing hot air over armin’s groin.

armin smiles, jean can see it, and even from upside down it makes his stomach flip pleasantly.

“or _you_ keep _me_ ,” he murmurs quietly, and then finally all traces of anger in eren’s expression are gone.

yeah… friday night restored


	2. Cagamosis/Tarantism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> original prompt: Cagamosis (An unhappy marriage) & Tarantism (The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing)

they say it’s good luck if it rains on your wedding day.

eren says that’s a lie to make you feel better about wasting ten grand on flower arrangements, but armin thinks maybe there’s some truth to it, maybe there’s only certain things you can see when its dark outside. the sun can blind just as well as it can illuminate.

the reception hall is nice, at least. the wedding was beautiful, all of it was perfect.

jean makes the most handsome groom.

as heartbreaking as it is to admit, as angry as armin was when he first found out - he looks genuinely happy, glowing with the warmth of family and friends around him.

and he wasn’t really angry at jean, at least not until eren opened up to him one night, tucked the covers over both their heads and left an intentional gap between them. he’d cried and said “it will never be the same, will it?”, and armin hated jean in that moment for breaking what they were.

but it’s okay. it’s okay because armin has had two glasses of champagne, eren significantly more, and jean hasn’t stopped smiling once.

"god, why would anyone want this shit," eren grumbles, tugging open the neck of his shirt without much finesse, movements dull and slowed by liquor. "i feel like i can’t breathe, and everyone’s eyes are on them."

"it’s what families do," armin replies quietly, and he looks over to jean’s mother. her cheeks are still damp from tears, her eyes sparkling.

they have two too many drinks each, and then stumble to the dancefloor together. eren can only just stand by himself, but he still rests his forehead against armin’s in their little corner on the allocated square on the ground, roped off by white satin ribbon. he shouts, because the music is loud, but only armin is meant to hear.

"i don’t regret anything. do you? because, like, i wouldn’t be who i am without him."

armin understands. he will never wish that it turned out differently, except for maybe this day - on nights that seem longer than usual he might wish that some sort of cosmic alignment would have occured, that an asteroid would land on this building and end it before it even had a chance to start.

eren had kicked up such a fuss, too, over being placed in the only three person dorm in that building. he’d wanted to be with armin, and armin alone, but then jean was already in there, claimed the bed that wasn’t part of a bunk, laid out in pyjama bottoms and a tattered old bob marley tshirt. thinking about it now makes armin’s chest ache, so he shuts his eyes real tight instead, wards off the memory.

and then he hears it - that song, _their_ song, starts booming in a liquid echo over the entire reception.

_'do you remember the 21st night of september?'_

"shit, armin, fuck."

armin opens his eyes, expects eren to be crying again, and is ready to walk them both out, but he isn’t. he’s grinning, his eyes bright behind the muddy drunk haze.

"our song," armin mouths out silently.

.

they’d been high out on the field, the echo of a party long since retreated down to the houses in the suburbs. they could hear the music because the rest of the world seemed so silent at the time. this song came on, jean lit another joint, and eren had an epiphany.

"this is us," he said, "we are earth, wind and fire."

armin had snorted, he’s a snarky little lightweight, jean had always teased. he said, “you realize they have, like, fifteen members or some shit?”

eren swatted armin’s shin, and jean snorted.

"no, you asshole, the elements. it’s _us_ , dude.”

"who’s what then?" jean asked, his throat full of smoke, voice tight.

"i’m fire, you’re wind, armin is earth."

"do i get a say in any of this?" armin retorted, and though he felt like fighting for an element more exciting than fucking _earth_ , he still laid down on eren, used his stomach like a pillow on top of the grass.

"no," eren said, and tugged jean down with them.

the mathematical portion of armin’s brain said this shouldn’t have worked, that three static points can’t make stars, but they all just seemed to fit together, they were bigger than numbers and science.

.

eren is still grinning, but now armin wants to cry. he’s not had enough to drink to feel numb about this yet, it’s still an open wound, but then he jolts himself out of it because jean is suddenly there, right between them, wrapping strong arms around both of their shoulders, the middle to both their sides.

_'only blue talk and love. remember how we knew love was here to stay'_

they’re dancing without armin knowing how it happened, with eren shouting the only lyrics he knows, and with jean holding them all together. jean leans down halfway through it, says right between their faces, “i’m so fucking glad you guys came, i’m so happy.”

eren looks at him like he wants to kiss him. armin tenses, ready to remove them both from this whole ordeal if he has to, but eren’s smile just turns soft, and he says, “of course, dude.”

armin can’t speak now. his throat has tied itself in knots, and as jean pulls them in to a big, messy ball of half dancing limbs, armin chances a look over at jean’s family, all caught up in a dance of their own, remembering things they might never tell their kids. that was one of the biggest reasons - jean had told him, but said to maybe not tell eren, that he might not get it - his momma wanted grandbabies.

family will always mean something different to them - to everyone, armin supposes. tradition is what you make it, and as the song fades out, jean returns to his bride with a heartbreaking sheen to his eyes, and although this is a goodbye, armin knows none of them will ever forget what they were.


	3. stoner/pills au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au where eren makes out with armin’s boyfriend and armin gets high for the first time
> 
> (warnings for drugs and drug related shit)

armin has a best friend, and a boyfriend.

 

eren knows this. and eren also knows there is a distinct difference between the two, even if the lines blur from time to time. what they were was never something he would have tacked a label onto, not until jean came into the picture and laid claim to the ‘boyfriend’ slot.

it’s not that eren doesn’t like jean, he does, oddly enough. he’s obnoxiously charismatic, and kind of an asshole, but in that more-endearing-than-unpleasant way.

and it’s not a territorial thing either. eren never claimed armin was his, and that isn’t just a vapid cover up of feelings that have gone long unspoken. it’s the truth, armin is a free spirit, he’s a soul with a body to carry him around, free to float as he wishes.

eren might have more privileges than most, he might be a little partial to the extra attention he almost always gets from him, but he doesn’t resent jean for stealing some of it. eren thinks it might be the drugs, but it’s kind of hypocritical to say. it’s not like he doesn’t also have less than wholesome recreations, but he doesn’t feed them to armin. armin is untainted in that respect, has only ever drank and then hacked and whooped over one or two impromptu cigarettes. it’s not like he’s a total narcotic virgin, he has lived with eren for almost three years now. but still… this is different.

armin throws pretty decent parties, if only because eren doesn’t have to leave the comfort of his own home to attend them, and they all generally have the same friends and musical interests, so it usually turns out well. this time jean is coming though, and with that comes an uncomfortable buzz about the room, a low hum that sparks an itch beneath eren’s sternum, a simultaneous need to get away and stay very, very still.

he’s met jean before, a few times, but this is the first time he’s staying over at their place, instead of armin going to him. armin, being the politically minded person he is, decides the best way to ease eren into this is to do it when there’s other people around - which is actually pretty wise.

except, by the time jean actually does arrive, eren is half-wasted and too far gone to really care. armin is appropriately tipsy, more giddy and cute than usual, but not obnoxiously so. he’s almost quieter when he’s excited, a brimming light that burns dim but steady, thrumming with energy and warmth.

and yeah, okay, three whiskeys in, eren can talk about warmth. his cheeks are burning pleasantly, and his neck feels thick and heavy, and jean walks right into the kitchen then. eren is the only one in here (it’s _his_ kitchen, he kindly reminds jean with a misplaced scowl) but it doesn’t stop jean from kneeling down before him, knee thudding against the linoleum where eren is all sprawled out against the cupboards. his smile looks a whole hell of a lot less dangerous from this close up, but eren quickly blames his blurred vision for the lapse in judgment.

"you alright?" jean asks, his voice oddly slow and soothing.

"mm," eren grunts in something like approval, trying to jerk his head back as though he’s in any fit state to fight, for reasons entirely unknown. all he really ends up doing is knocking the back of his head painfully against the cupboards.

jean catches his jaw, tilts his head carefully away from all the hard, potentially threatening surfaces, and there— _now_ his blown out grin looks dangerous.

"wanna hit?" jean asks, and eren does that ugly grunt thing again, only it’s more desperate this time. offering him anything in this state is almost unfairly easy.

eren opens his mouth while jean still holds it between warm fingers, parts his lips and lets the pads of jean’s index finger and his thumb settle in the crease of his jaw, holding his face steady but not painfully. jean’s been walking around their apartment all night with his stupid little druggie ziploc baggie, so eren’s open mouth is seeking the drop of a pill, but what he gets instead is about half a second’s cognition of jean’s breath against his lips before jean’s tongue is touching his.

jean pushes the pill from his own mouth into eren’s, slides the spit dampened tablet onto eren’s tongue with the tip of his own. it sends a thrill of warmth through eren’s gut, a tightness that sits at the base of his spine and makes it a struggle to keep his body from vibrating, from pushing forward, wrapping his tongue around the heat breaching his mouth.

it’s more tempting than it should be, because he’s only ever kissed armin.

but this isn’t a kiss. this is jean with his perilous grin and his bag of tricks pushing out party favors, this is jean’s way of saying he’s cool with you, with a tongue like wet silk and a personality that’s just as clingy.

"swallow," he gently commands, as their mouths part and eren blinks his eyes open again.

this is some potent shit, eren knows. he’s sampled jean’s wares before, although jean doesn’t exactly know this. he’s got 20, maybe 30 minutes tops until it hits. he’s lucky he had the whiskey already in his system, which makes it a little more socially acceptable for him to be necking with his best friend’s boyfriend on the floor of their kitchen.

or does it?

jean moves to stand, but it’s too fast, and by the time he’s left the kitchen it’s like he was never really there to begin with, and if it weren’t for the smallest twinge of tension at the edges of his jaw, eren might actually be able to convince himself he imagined the whole thing.

it’s there though, eren can feel it. he isn’t sure how long he sits on that kitchen floor for, but it’s long enough now - his jaw is now tight enough to creak, his arms feel a little too heavy, and his mouth is somehow dry but watering. he sinks backwards into the cupboards again, his head thunking delightfully and the dent the contact doesn’t cause holds him there perfectly, perfectually, commodiously.

this is why the kitchen is his, eren thinks, as he pats the linoleum by his hip almost fondly. it’s so fucking comfortable when you’re high.

armin walks into the kitchen moments, minutes, maybe hours or days later, and eren doesn’t quite have the mental capacity to feel guilty or anxious, so he chooses instead to grin stupidly up at him. armin must think their shitty kitchen floor is comfy too, because he fucking fumbles down onto it like a sack of goddamn potatoes.

"shh," eren shushes him, momentarily annoyed, before slipping back into that space where everything slides off you the way water does from a duck’s back.

"eren, _erennnn_ , guess what i did?” armin asks, burning again with that subdued enthusiasm, looking about ready to fucking burst.

_i kissed your boyfriend, perhaps you watched?_

"what did you do?" eren mumbles.

armin sticks out his tongue, and on it sits a pretty, white little pill.

eren is just enough of himself to gape for a moment. he wants that pill, and he wants armin to give it to him the same way jean did. except fuck the pill, really, he just likes kissing armin when he’s high, and armin never really seemed to mind…

"jean gae- it ta me," armin stuggles to speak around the tongue still lolling out of his mouth.

he makes a show of swallowing it, showing eren underneath his tongue once he has, as if eren wouldn’t believe dating a druggie wouldn’t eventually lead to armin trying this shit out for himself. he allows himself the tiniest of pats on the back for being high 95% of the time and still not having influenced armin that way.

armin grabs eren’s face and rubs both of his cheeks with his thumbs, gazes at him like it’s already hit, even though, despite the hazy twist of time, eren knows it hasn’t. eren isn’t really sure if armin is doing that thing where he acts more fucked up than he is because he’s anticipating it, or if it’s something else. it feels like something else, this nameless magnetism that eren is never able to name. it even forces his mouth open a few times, rearing him ready to speak. only the rest of his brain shuts down and forcefully forgets what to say.

truthfully, he probably would’ve just asked if they could make out or something.

armin kisses him anyways, but not the way eren wants him to. it’s chaste and sweet, the softness of his lips pairing delicately with the way the world feels like it’s spinning slower down here, against the soft(hard) surface of the cupboard and the floor that keeps him from falling, and falling, and falling.

"come be social, asshole," armin chides quietly, then stumbles a little when he moves to stand, which eren instinctively moves forward in attempts to catch. it might not have been enough time for the high to kick in yet, but eren is still a little paranoid about when it does. not that he doesn’t think armin can handle it, he’s just… whatever, he’s not moving from the floor for now. fuck it. the music sounds better half muted anyway.


	4. modern amnesia scrap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was something i wanted to do a while back where i was worried the manga was going to kill everyone off and no one would have a happy ending. it's essentially armin thinking he lives in a world of monsters and death, and eren and jean trying to convince him it's not real 
> 
> *WARNING* this is very much unfinished and probably will remain as such

armin wakes to the sounds of hushed breathing, to the gentle chirp of birds outside a nearby window, the whistle of wind against the glass. his body is warm, tired, and a little sore, but that isn’t why he’s confused.

he’s confused because the other side of his bed is warm, and his body feels different- longer and awkward to control. he climbs out of bed, trips over a pair of trousers that aren’t his, and stumbles into his bathroom, his legs trembling. this isn’t really his bathroom either, he’s never seen it before.

when he flicks on the light, he flinches almost violently. he looks older, naked from the hips up, his chest and stomach lean and taut. his hair is longer, and he pulls it to one side of his neck until it drapes over his collarbone.

armin’s eyes hone in on the bruises he has on his neck-- purpling and warm to the touch, pink around the edges and a little soft when he presses on them. his hands shake when he feels them trail around the back of his neck, flinching when he presses into a particularly nasty bruise on his nape. he gasps quietly, feeling around blind, because there are teeth marks indented into his skin.

“baby, come get breakfast!” someone shouts through the door, and armin’s body twitches, jumps in surprise at the volume.

the voice sounds oddly familiar. it sounds almost like… jean? but it  _can’t_  be.

armin takes a deep breath. this basin is strange, it seems to activate by the motion of your hand beneath it, which also makes armin jump. armin curses beneath his breath and pats the cool wetness to his cheeks, tries to wake himself up a bit.

none of this is right, this isn’t his home, this doesn’t even feel like the same planet he’d went to sleep on. that same voice from before starts singing off in the distance, and it’s definitely jean, but there's no way it can be. jean died last year scouting aberrants.

armin decides to play it cool, pretend that wherever he’s been kidnapped to has actually managed to fool him, that feigning an old friend’s voice and luring him out of a brightly lit room filled with sharp edges and strange machinery isn’t something he’s savvy too. he pushes his hair back, tries to arrange it as best he can to cover the remnants of the assault on his neck, and then walks out of the room.

jean is there, standing in front of a skillet in the kitchen, whistling along to his tune from earlier with a small towel thrown over his shoulder. his clothes look odd, and the kitchen seems to be made of all shiny materials, no wood in sight. still-- the sight makes armin’s heart ache deep in his chest, because whoever they’d found to disguise as jean could actually be his twin, and seeing him happy and healthy, however false, feels like swallowing needles.

“what?” jean says, when he catches armin gawking. this isn’t an imposter in a wig, this is jean. you can’t fake that grin, no one can. “don’t worry, i haven’t woken him. he slept walk into my office again.”

“who?” armin asks, and then winces when he realizes this… phantom image expects him to know what he’s talking about.

“uh, eren? did you have other guests over last night that i didn’t know about?”

armin stands there, shaking in disbelief. jean is alive, jean is here. his voice is deeper, his chin speckled in stubble. he drops the skillet back onto the stove, and then approaches armin. he brushes the hair away from armin’s shoulder, and armin isn’t quick enough to panic about what he might find there.

jean lifts a brow at him, his hand resting warm and open against armin’s breastbone, and surely he can feel how heavy his heartbeat is.

“you guys had fun last night, huh?”

and then jean is kissing him, leaning in and pressing the soft warmth of his lips against armin’s. armin is so stunned by it that he lets it happen, lets it melt into him enough that he unintentionally leans into jean when he pulls away.

“go wake him up,” jean says, patting armin on the backside when he saunters back to the kitchen. “im sure you’re both  _ravenous_.”

armin nods numbly, stumbling down the only corridor he can see. his hands are still shaking, rattling the delicate bones in his wrist, and the first door he enters seems to be some sort of storage closet for coats, but the second one opens to a small room with a desk, a dark leather couch off to one side.

sure enough, there he is. eren, human eren, sleeping in a lump on the couch. jean he might not have been sure of, but there is no doubt in his mind that this is lifelong best friend, the one hanji and erwin took from him when he stopped being able to break transformation, lost too much of his own human consciousness.

“eren?” armin asks shakily, kneeling to the ground in front of him.

eren lifts a sleep tousled head, frowning, but he grins so wide it makes the corners of his eyes crease when he looks up and recognizes armin.

he doesn’t say anything, only grunts and tugs armin onto the couch with him by the back of the neck, sooths the pad of his thumb over the bruise there.

armin clenches his eyes shut, whimpers without meaning to, and then begins to panic the minute eren siffens.

“armin, are you okay?” eren asks warily.

he nods quickly, face hidden by eren’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of him, so terribly real and familiar. jean shouts again in the distance, and eren groans into armin’s neck.

“let’s go, before he comes in here and starts whipping us with his fucking dish towels,” eren grumbles, and armin barely manages to extract himself from the couch.

eren runs a tired hand over his face, peers oddly at armin for a moment longer than necessary, and then tugs him back to the room where the kitchen was.

“come on,” eren says, looking back and then scoffing in amusement at something he sees on armin’s back. “he’s not even allowed to complain, i’m surprised you slept at all.”

armin only walks with him because he’s terrified of letting go, of waking up from this horrible dream and realizing that he’s not progressed into some kind of brightly lit future, one where he hasn’t lost all of the people he loves.

\--

armin doesn’t eat, and eren won’t stop staring at him. jean knew it had happened again the minute armin walked through the door, the minute he saw his face fall. this is what they did the last time, though at that point it was all unintentional, and it worked. so jean forces himself into impassivity, pretends he doesn’t notice, and serves them both his scrappiest, greasiest breakfast mess.

“eat up,” he says to armin, nudging his plate closer to him with the edge of the hot skillet. “you had a double shift last night.”

armin’s eyes flit between eren and jean, stunned and wide. jean’s heart sinks, and he begins to wonder if eren knows it’ll happen before it does, somehow. he always manages to end up in the other room when it does.

“it’s good,” eren says, eating with one hand, while the other rubs careful circles into the back of armin’s neck. at least this time armin isn’t flinching, pushing them away.

“um,” armin says, looking down at his untouched plate, and then he clears his throat, “please excuse me, i need to use the restroom.”

he gets up from the table, nearly sprints back into their bedroom, and eren heaves a long, tired sigh.

“he’s gone again, isn’t he?” he asks jean.

jean nods numbly, sinking heavily down into a chair, the skillet clattering onto the table.

\--

it’s a transient type of amnesia, they were told. armin had nightmares when he was young, and would sometimes wake up thinking he was still stuck in them, that the waking world wasn’t his own, wasn’t real. he mumbled about monsters in his sleep, ones that chased him between trees, and it got so bad that eren starting seeing them too-- started seeing himself as one of the monsters that knocked armin’s memory right out of him.

he remembers, in time, and eren is used to it.

jean isn’t- and the clouded expression he wears whenever he takes it personally makes eren’s heart hurt.

 


	5. kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eren/jean/armin | for a really old anon prompt of 'erejearmin first kisses' | rated high teen for somewhat sexual kissing

The first time Armin kissed Eren it felt like a punch - this stomach swooping clarity of feeling, finally making sense of what it meant to want to touch your best friend in ways you might not have ever understood. Eren hissed when Armin kissed him, like he’d been burned, only the soothing strokes of Armin’s tongue along the seam of his lips getting the tension in his shoulders to loosen. By the time Armin had pulled away their mouths were wet and raw, Eren’s face was red all over, and he’d whispered,  _“why haven’t we done that before?”._  Armin only laughed.

When they kiss now it’s a little different. Eren likes to bite, threatening pierces with the sharp of his teeth on the fattest part of Armin’s lower lip. He’ll tug, too, sliding open his mouth once he’s got Armin whining into it, devouring his taste like he’s forgotten how to live without it. Eren kisses like most people think he talks - a lot of bite, more eager assertiveness than anything else, and beneath it all is an ever present need to please. It’s why Armin’s stomach still swoops, even now. Because Eren’s face can still get hot from just the taste of him.

The first time Armin kissed Jean it felt soft and tender, though the sensation was glazed over by a sense of guilt. The _‘having your cake and eating it’_  syndrome, knowing that you’re wanted by something you want just as much. Jean was soft with him, cupped each side of his face, pushed the hair away from his cheeks. He kissed the corner of his mouth first, then the center. His breath had trembled, Armin remembers feeling it, and he kissed so gently, his lips barely parted. Armin pulled away from him, shaking in excitement but also nerves, and Jean had said,  _“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”_  Armin nervously laughed.

When they kiss now it’s much the same, but the guilt isn’t there anymore. Jean still holds him like he’s made of glass, still strokes his fingers through Armin’s hair like it’s spun from the finest threads of silk. He sucks on Armin’s tongue, soft and warm, moaning quietly when Armin opens for him, invites him deeper. When Jean pulls away, Armin is left panting, dazed, so hard it makes his vision blur. Jean gets playful when he sees what he does to him, when Armin gazes up at him like he’s bigger than the moon, more vital than the sun, and then licks into his open mouth just to watch Armin flinch, like he hadn’t noticed he’d been doing it.

 

The first time Jean and Eren kiss, Armin gets to watch.

 

He doesn’t really believe it’s happening until it is, until he’s pushing a palm over his straining erection, whimpering as the arousal hits him in shockwaves, his stomach clenching. Eren bites Jean’s lips, and Jean holds Eren’s jaw, squeezing until it opens, until his mouth goes all soft for him, and Armin's toes curl where they’re crossed beneath him on the bed. He’s a spectator, but he isn’t - they’re doing this for him, to prove to him it’s okay, they want it, they want him, and each other. Jean’s mouth trails to Eren’s jaw, down his neck, and when Eren moans and then hisses out a curse, Armin thinks he might not survive this long enough to make it about the three of them.

By the time Jean and Eren pull apart, Armin feels like someone’s turned the world upside down without warning him, like he could walk on ceilings and make sense of books in braille, like everything his stories ever told him to expect from love and romance were a lie. Eren falls backwards in a heap, looking up at Jean like he didn’t know the force of his own want, like he’d thought this was maybe just a joke to get Armin riled up, but now realizes the gravity of it all. Jean just looks at Eren like he wants to do it again, soon, preferably with less clothing.

“This what you wanted?” Eren asks Armin, though he’s still looking up at Jean, his limbs weak and sprawled in a mess around where they’ve barely managed to pull away from each other.

“Yes.”

Armin’s tiny squeak must sound booming in their heads, echoing around the tiny bubble they’ve built around themselves in this room, because both of them turn to look at him now. Jean starts laughing, more from relief than anything funny, and Eren’s face is red and his pupils are so fat it makes his eyes look black.

“Good,” Eren says, and Jean laughs louder.

Good.


	6. jean wanting to draw them both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr: ghostheichou asked:  
> jean having to ask eren/armin/both to be his model bc he has to turn in a series of drawings for his class
> 
> i dont even know what this is but i miss them so here  
> erejearmin | dumb fluff (i rly like the idea of jean as an artist wow)
> 
> —————

they way armin and eren sleep is intricate, like the veins of a butterfly’s wing, something beautiful and yet essential in how it’s like they can’t breathe without the tangle of the other’s limbs. it isn’t exactly graceful, but comfort doesn’t have to be, jean supposes. it’s like home, something familiar in the way armin’s fist curls gently in on itself resting over eren’s heartbeat. 

jean taps his pencil against the empty pad of paper balancing on the tops of his knees, considering. if they were a butterfly, they would each be a wing, but then how would jean fit? the body? it’s where the ass and the head is, so that might make some kind of blunt ironic sense, but the prospect of having to explain that to a teacher is daunting. having to explain _any_  of this to anyone is daunting.

“i can feel you staring,” eren mumbles, eyes shut gently.

jean squeezes at his own hair, pulling a little. his eyes sting from being awake for so long, but he has to get some work done on this.

“just stuck with this one, i guess.”

eren smirks. “i can still get naked if you want.”

“it isn’t anatomy, you fucker,” jean snaps, and then winces in guilt when armin shifts minutely against eren’s chest, pulling his knee higher up eren’s thigh.

it would be  _nice_  if they weren’t wearing clothes, but not for this particular purpose.

“do it later, please?” eren asks as he reaches his hand out blindly, grabbing across the distance towards jean.

jean sighs heavily, dropping the pad and pencil to the floor as he stumbles towards the bed. armin lets go of a muffled  _‘hmph’_ at the addition of jean’s weight on the mattress, but it’s a familiar noise.

he crawls over both armin and eren, settling so the curve of his belly rests against armin’s back. he puts his face in armin’s hair, inhales the gentle scent of tea tree and sweat, and shuts his eyes. he’ll sleep on it, he supposes.

“why are you so adamant to draw us?” eren asks from out of the darkness. “isn’t that kind of… personal?”

“it’s supposed to be,” jean grumbles, blearily aware of the way armin shifts to slot better between them, one foot hooked around jean’s ankle to tug his legs closer. armin has always liked them this way - tightly packed and speaking quietly, for a change.

“well, whatever. losing sleep over it is stupid.”

armin hushes them, and jean presses an apologetic kiss to his crown.

“i don’t really know where i fit in this,” jean admits, because the warmth of the two of them combined has always made him a little delirious and out of his mind. it’s the mention of not sleeping that does it - it has nothing to do with the art block, it’s just a convenient excuse.

armin groans in quiet frustration, and jean feels a flash of hurt for it, though he knows it isn’t armin’s fault if he was too sleepy to hear him. armin leans up on an elbow, vaulting himself over jean’s body and rolling him with a grunt towards eren.

“if you’re gonna talk don’t put me in the middle of it,” armin mumbles, fitting himself around jean much the way it had been in reverse not two seconds ago. there’s a pause, and then armin says, “and you fit right here.”

eren snorts, reaching over jean to shove at armin’s shoulder and then letting it flop down lazily, trailing the warmth of his palm over the side of jean’s neck. he keeps his hand there, strokes jean’s pulse with his thumb.

“he’s right,” eren adds in a carefully hushed whisper, and he gets this frustrated tilt to his mouth that jean has now come to recognize means he wants to kiss him but doesn’t know how to do it without it feeling awkward. jean will take that on, gladly. he nudges eren’s nose with his, kisses the sweet little curve on the bow of his upper lip.

maybe a butterfly would work, though he still doesn’t want to have to explain it to anybody. he could make up a story, link it to some childhood memory that doesn’t exist, but then it would be too hard to lie about the significance. armin and eren are as personal to jean as it gets - they are the wings but they’re all connected, multiple pieces that slot together to form a single unit. jean is the body, not because of his bullshit childish projection of head meeting ass, but that he couldn’t do this without both of them — he’d fall apart.


End file.
